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Getting Dressed While Being a Mom

Mar152012

I confessed to a co-worker yesterday that I accidentally wore my brown pumps with my black slacks.

Of course, I didn’t notice until I arrived at work, looked down and saw brown peaking out from underneath my snot-slimed pants. The snail trail was easy to clean up in the bathroom. I’ve cleaned a lot of things off of myself in that bathroom. Yogurt, nose blood, nose slime, spit-up. I’m just lovely when I arrive at work! And I owe our durable paper towel supply a debt of gratitude I will likely never be able to repay. Really, I think if my employer paid me in paper towels, we’d probably be even.

My co-worker, when she finished giggling at my shoes and my self-directed eye-rolling, asked if I got dressed in the dark.

I think that’s a reasonable question, but I didn’t get dressed in the dark.

So been there. At least your shoes were the same shoe presumably. I came in with two different styles of shoes on-one patent black wedge like shoe and one black leather mary jane. Didn’t even notice for several hours. Sigh….

I once would have been horrified at the very idea of wearing anything smeared with the slightest trace of bodily excreta, or by the notion of not having perfectly clean hair. How times have changed. Nowadays, if anyone’s sick into my hair, I just make sure not to brush it until the next day when I’m freshly out of the shower, so as not to transfer the vomit into my hairbrush. And when the baby weed lavishly on my jeans the other day, I just gave it a cursory scrub with a baby wipe and left it at that (because, naturally, I had no clean jeans into which I could change). How standards have slipped. And do I care? No 😀 We’re all right there with you! xoxo

The other day I went to look for my pajamas to put them on before bed and couldn’t find them anywhere! Then I realized I was still wearing them. Fortunately it was a Sunday and I didn’t leave the house (that I can remember) but apparently dressing didn’t make it very high on the list of priorities that day.

I felt very relieved to have a coworker who is a Dad of a 4 year old point out its amazing what he finds on his shoulder the first time he uses the bathroom at work for the day. I guess its better than leaving the house without a hug in the morning.

The worst for me (although no one else knew about it) was when I went _all_day_ before I realized that in my state of “getting dressed while being a mom”, I put my underwear on inside out. Due to my continual state of “using the restroom while a mom”, I didn’t manage to notice, either. All. Day. Long. Boy, was I surprised when I got ready for bed that night! 😀

Thanks for putting a smile on my face, as usual, fellow Mom-of-5-er!!!

I have zero fashion sense. Zero. Zilch. Not a dang drop. Part of the allure that is my husband is that he is rather fashion forward and is very helpful in dressing me (but not in a creepy “my husband dresses me” controlling way. More of a “Thank the Lord he saved me from myself by helping me” way).
So I’m totally down with having a new excuse as to why I look like I can’t dress myself!

Haha, if we worked at the same place, we would see a lot of each other in that bathroom, desperately trying to look presentable. Maybe even swap shoes or slacks sometimes, if they happened to crossmatch, lol! And about the PT supply, shhhh…

I have trouble finding shoes that fit me comfortably, so when I do, I tend to buy them twice…one black, one brown. I really shouldn’t do that, I can’t tell you how many times I have walked out my door wearing one black shoe and one brown shoe. I still haven’t made it out the driveway like that, but it’s just a matter of time, I think.

I had just gotten to where I could dress w/o some form of bodily fluid not my own inevitably being smeared, vomited, flicked or kissed onto my person….it was a lovely time of new clothes and matching socks and shoes…And then a year ago on Sunday…I had to go and have another one….now yet again I’m lucky if i what I am wearing is clean…forget about stains, wrinkles or matching…those are just the badges of “mother of young child” that we wear proudly, yet embarrassed at the same time when a non-mother type notices because they just. don’t. get. it.